"He would still have been dead," said Dumarest. He was impatient with the navigator's brooding introspection, his concern with a problematical afterlife. "The only difference is that I would have intended to kill him. You did not. He must have had a thin skull."

"Fate," said Nimino thoughtfully. "Who can fight against it? It was my destiny to kill a man." He looked at the console, at the mass of signal lights brightly red. "As it is our destiny to die. Claude has, perhaps, cheated us. He had an easy ending."

Dumarest was curt. "Explain."

"The generators are out of phase, my friend. The error is increasing. When it reaches a certain point the forces we have utilized to move us at supralight speeds will tear us apart."

"Couldn't we land before that happens?" asked Dumarest. "Turn off the generators to conserve their effective life?"

"Can we fight against our destiny?"

"We can fight." Dumarest looked down at his hands, they were clenched, the knuckles showing white. "We have to fight. The alternative is to die." He looked at the navigator. "It's up to you," he said. "You and the captain. There's nothing I can do."

"You can pray," said Nimino softly. "You can always do that."

Lallia stirred as Dumarest entered the cabin, lifting her arms as he turned on the light. "Earl, my darling. How did you know I wanted you?"

He made no comment, standing watching her, cups of basic in his hands. Sleep had washed the lines of fatigue from her face, lessened the heavy pallor, so that lying in the aureole of her hair she looked very young and very helpless. He stooped and set down the cups, feeling her arms close around him, the warm scent of her breath against his cheek.

"Come to me, lover. Come to me now."

"You'd better drink this," he said. "I want you to swallow as much basic as you can hold."

"Aren't I fat enough for you, lover?" She lost her smile as she saw his face. "Earl! Something's wrong! What is it?"

"We're going to crash," he said flatly. "And I think it will be soon."

"Crash?"

"The generators are failing. Sheyan did all he could but it wasn't enough. Now he's trying to get us down all in one piece."

He looked at the woman and thought of the captain, of Sheyan's innate fear as he had been woken from the com shy;fort of his symbiote, his steely acceptance of what had to be done. The generators had defeated him, now he was in the control room, slumped in his big chair, doing what the mechanisms around him could no longer do.

For they worked by rigid patterns governed by the steady progress of the ship. That progress was no longer steady, random forces increasing the velocity by multiplying factors, the gravity fields of close-set suns affecting the vessel in un shy;expected ways. Like a blind man threading a needle through a mass of electrified wire Sheyan was guiding the Moray through destructive energies. Their lives depended on his skill.

"I've spoken to Yalung," said Dumarest. "He knows what to do. Now I want you to do it. Eat as much as you can- food may be hard to find after we land. Wear as much as you can; the landing may be rough and we may have to leave the ship fast. Stay in this cabin and fasten the re shy;straints. And pray," he added, remembering Nimino's advice. "For all we know it could help."

"Paraphysical forces working on an unaccepted plane of energy," she said evenly. "But, if we don't accept it, how can it affect us?"

"An apple may not accept the concept of gravity," he said. "But it falls just the same."

Lallia took a cup of basic, drank and looked thought shy;fully into the empty container. "Prayer," she said. "I've done enough of it in the past. When I was a girl I prayed all the time for someone to take me away from the farm. Do you know what it's like working on a farm? We had no machines so I had to be up well before dawn and didn't get to bed until long after dark. The best I could hope for was for some man to marry me and take me back to his place and there work me to death. Well, that didn't happen. A young aristo saw me while out hunting and liked the way

I was built. I played up to him and he enjoyed his new toy. By the time he had tired of me I was safe off the farm." She looked at Dumarest. "Safe but in trouble. Rochis isn't a gentle world and an unprotected woman is anyone's sport. Do I have to tell you what happened then?"

Dumarest took the empty cup from her hand. "You don't have to tell me anything. The past doesn't matter."

"No," she said, and drew a deep breath. "Let's just say that I've knocked around. Anyway, I moved on the first ship I could get. I guess I've been moving ever since. Mov shy;ing and looking for a thing called happiness. It isn't easy to find."

Dumarest handed her another cup of basic. "Drink this."

"I'll drink it." Her eyes were bright as she searched his face. "Earl! Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

"Drink your basic."

"To hell with it!" She slammed the cup down and circled him with her arms. "I'm telling you that I love you. That I've never known what love was before. That I can die hap shy;py knowing that we are together."

Dumarest lifted his hand and stroked the rich mass of her hair. He knew what she wanted him to say. "I love you, Lallia."

"You mean that?" Her arms tightened, pressed him close. "You really mean it?"

"I mean it."

"Then I've found it," she said. "Happiness, I mean. Earl, you'll never regret it. I'll be all the woman you could ever want. I'll-" She broke off as the ship gave a sudden lurch. "Earl?"

"It's nothing," he said quickly. "Opposed energies, per shy;haps, or the touch of atmosphere. Hurry now, do as I told you."

He left the cabin as the ship jerked again, the fabric shrilling as if the Moray was in actual, physical pain.

IX

they landed badly, hitting a range of low hills, bouncing over rock and scree, tearing a broad swathe through snow-laden trees before coming to a halt at the bottom of a shallow ravine. From the plateau beyond Nimino looked back at the column of smoke which marked the funeral pyre of the Moray.

"My books," he said. "My holy objects and sacred charms. Gone, all of them."

"They served their purpose," said Dumarest. "At least you are still alive." He glanced to where Yalung and the woman stood, shapeless in bundled garments, ankle-deep in azure snow. "We are alive," he corrected. "Your prayers and sup shy;plications must have been effective."

But not for the ship and not for its captain. Sheyan was dead, his blood and flesh mingled with the metal of the crushed vessel, charring now beneath the searing heat of re shy;leased energies.

Yalung stirred, stamping his feet in the freezing snow. "Where are we?" he demanded. "What is the name of this world?"

"Shrine."

Dumarest looked at the navigator, remembering those he had seen at the carnival. "Then there is a settlement here. Ships and men to aid us."

Nimino shook his head. "No settlement, Earl. Shrine is a peculiar world. It is a place which is regarded by many as being holy. They come here hoping for a miracle to cure their deformities and many have their hopes realized. There is a sacred place protected by strange guardians. Ships call and leave but there is no town and no commerce."

Lallia said, "How do you know all this?"

"I was here once, many years ago, soon after I entered the Web. Often I suggested to Sheyan that he use the Moray as a pilgrim vessel but always he refused. The vessel was too small, the cost of conversion too high; a larger crew would have been needed together with medical personnel." Nimino looked to where the column of smoke climbed into the violet sky. "Well, he is here now and will stay here. The manipula shy;tions of fate often contain a strange irony."